Kronos Rising_Kraken vol.1

by Max Hawthorne

  Grayson half-bowed his head. “I empathize with you. You know, come to think of it, I’ve heard at least one person call you an ‘aberration of nature.’”

  “Not to my face.”

  Grayson wore a sphinx-like expression as he tried to read Garm. “You’re not afraid of her?”

  “No. But then, I’m not in the water.”

  “You know what I mean,” Grayson said. “Don’t pretend you’re obtuse.”

  Garm grinned mirthlessly. “Who’s pretending?”

  “You know, I love you and Derek like sons. But the two of you are astonishingly different.”

  “Yes. I’m taller and better-looking.”

  Grayson shook his head. “I’m talking about fortitude. Derek does his job, even gets close enough to touch Tiamat if he has to, but he’s terrified of her. You can tell.”

  Garm looked at him. “Dirk was always the smarter one.”

  “You’ve both got great gifts,” the older man persisted. “His are mental, yours are physical and spiritual. You’ve also both got more money now than a man could spend in a hundred lifetimes. Yet you insist on commanding an ORION and risking your life, day in, day out. Why, for some misguided vendetta?”

  “Why?” Garm had to admit, getting under the normally resolute CEO’s skin was giving him a perverse sense of satisfaction. He decided to stoke the fire and invoked his best Clint Eastwood accent. “‘A man’s got to know his limitations.’”

  “But why don’t you settle down? Maybe pass on some of those great genetics?” an exasperated Grayson persisted.

  Garm’s head whipped back toward the amphitheater pool wall. Tiamat had crept quietly to within ten yards of the glass – as close as her programming allowed – and was now staring. Not at Grayson. But at him.

  Like one of the monstrous Titans from Greek mythology gazing upon its worshippers, the Kronosaurus imperator queen’s maleficent gaze locked onto Garm’s. Her orange eyes were like embers the size of serving-trays. He could feel them penetrating all the way to the back of his skull as an inter-species stare-down ensued.

  Despite the ridiculous size difference, Garm glared coolly back up at her. He’d never backed away from a confrontation in his life and he wasn’t about to start now – especially with her.

  Grayson adjusted his restrictive lab coat and folded his arms knowingly across his chest. “She knows what you want,” he said. “As you know what she wants. And that’s the problem.”

  Garm broke off from the battle of wills and turned impatiently to his employer. “With all due respect, can I get the Cliff’s Notes version of this?”

  He studied Grayson’s face as the CEO absorbed the blatant insubordination. If he’d pulled a stunt like that in public, there would have been consequences. But here, man-to-man, they were equals. It would’ve been self-emasculating for the old man to pull rank.

  He didn’t. Instead, Grayson nodded. Then he went on the offensive.

  “Very well, captain,” he began. “Let me be direct. I want Typhon, and I want him alive.”

  “I’m quite aware of that, sir,” Garm said. “What’s your point?”

  “My point, my dear boy, is that if we’re successful in capturing him, he’s destined to mate with that lovely lady staring over your shoulder.”

  Garm didn’t have to turn around to know Tiamat was still targeting him. He could feel her gaze just as he could her sonar; a damp electric blanket draped across his shoulders. “And?”

  “Let’s not mince words,” Grayson said, looking up at him. The overheads glinted off his silver hair as he got in the younger man’s grille. “She killed your mother. Killed her and ate her. Right here, in this room.”

  Garm’s muscles tensed and he felt the beast slam violently against the bars of its cage. In his mind, he saw himself knocking Grayson’s head off his shoulders with one blow. “Thanks for the refresher course,” he said robotically. “Again, what’s your point?”

  “I need Typhon quite badly in order to keep this company moving in the right direction,” Grayson said. “And I want your personal assurance that you won’t let your feelings get in the way of taking him alive.”

  Garm frowned. “If you’re asking me to swear on a stack of bibles that I won’t destroy your precious behemoth, I can’t.” He held up a hand as he saw an indignant look coalesce on the old man’s face. “Anything could happen. Typhon is unpredictable, the most dangerous adversary we’ve ever faced.”

  “You’re not a god-fearing man, are you, son?”

  “With all due respect, sir, I’m not your son.”

  “No, you’re not. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  Garm cocked his head confusedly. “I don’t see what religion has to do with this discussion.”

  Grayson folded his hands before him in a prayer-like pose. “You referenced bibles and I find that curious, given your well known . . . proclivities.”

  “A figure of speech. I’m sure you’ve been in court before.”

  “Yes, I have. So, then, it’s safe to say you’re not a believer.”

  A ‘believer?’ Garm glanced over his shoulder up at Tiamat. He studied her massive jaws, lined with sharp-ridged fangs that hung down like a bevy of icicles. Those same jaws had closed on his poor mother and, despite her screams, nobody, mortal or divine, had come to help her. He felt a burning cold in the pit of his stomach, like he’d swallowed a bowlful of frozen razor blades, and he loomed over the old man. “I don’t believe in your god. And he sure as hell doesn’t believe in me.”

  “I see.” Grayson gazed fearlessly up at him. “Then how am I to trust you – a man with no faith?”

  “Oh, but I have faith in plenty of things: duty, honor, integrity . . . even karma, at times. Although sometimes the ‘K’ needs a little help,” he said, winking.

  “So, your sense of duty will see things through.”

  Garm shrugged. “Like I said, anything could happen. I can’t make any guarantees. But barring being stuck in a kill-or-be-killed situation, I’ll do my best to bring Typhon back in one piece.”

  Grayson contemplated his response, then nodded and extended his hand. “I guess that will have to do, captain.”

  As they shook, Garm grinned. “Oh, cheer up. Have I let you down yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  He watched as Grayson turned on his heel and began hoofing it back toward his ride. A minute later, he saw him mutter something into his radio and the distant ATV sped forward to meet him halfway.

  Garm waited until he was out of earshot. Then he turned back, only to find Tiamat still peering down at him with unconcealed interest. His eyes became hardened slits and he bared his teeth in a predatory smile.

  “Guess what, bitch?” he said quietly. “It’s your lucky day. You’re going to have a mate soon and then you’ll be released back into the wild. Once that happens, Grayson can go fuck himself. Gryphon and I are going to come find you. It doesn’t matter where you are or where you go; I’m going to hunt you down like Ahab from Hell, and I’m going to blow that cold, black-blooded heart of yours clean out the other side of your misshapen chest.”

  A hint of movement in the distance caught his eye and he looked back the way he’d come. He spotted Sam Mot in the distance, sitting forlornly in his cybernetic wheelchair by the stadium exit, and obviously waiting for him.

  Garm waved to Sam and started toward him. As he turned away from the pool, he could feel Tiamat’s hateful stare still boring into his back. He glanced back over his shoulder at the giant predator, scoffed and flipped her the bird. Then he loped soundlessly toward his old friend.

  CHAPTER

  22

  Dirk sat back at his desk, contentedly sipping a damn good cup of Joe. Despite all the risks and rigors of the demo, it ended up being a pleasant morning. He and Stacy had enjoyed a long, hot shower together, followed by a late breakfast and a couple of well-deserved shots of Wild Turkey. Once the powerful bourbon kicked in and helped calm her nerves, she’d headed back to
her quarters to prep for the post-demo meeting, while he took advantage of the brief respite to catch up on the spin of things outside of Tartarus.

  He needed to, if for no other reason than to remind himself that there was some semblance of life and normalcy outside the hellish place he called home.

  Dirk put the self-heating mug carefully back on its stand, his free hand toying with the tiny flash drive that contained his mother’s final report. Actually, he thought glumly, other than the security video of her death, it was probably the last footage of her, period.

  He examined the portable drive and frowned. The memory of how he found the report on her desktop appeared in his mind like a popup. It seemed strange for her to conceal it like that – under a file name that would attract only his or his brother’s attention. Outside immediate family, no one would know Garm never took fencing lessons.

  Dirk exhaled heavily and turned his attention back to his monitor. On it, the networks were reporting on the conflict currently taking place in Cuba. It was frontline news; what had started as minor skirmishes had escalated in size and intensity over the last twenty-four hours. Now, the place was a veritable warzone, with fighting taking place on a scale the tiny island nation hadn’t witnessed since the 1950’s.

  As he took in footage of burning bodies, strewn around the smoldering ruin of what was once a Russian tank, Dirk shook his head. Rebels, freedom fighters, revolutionaries, counter-revolutionaries . . . whatever they called themselves, in the end it was all horseshit. Like most wars, it was about money and power, with those that had it taking it from those that didn’t and dispensing it as they saw fit.

  He reached for his coffee, watching as an entire platoon of guerillas got caught in the open and were mowed down by automatic weapons fire. He pursed his lips and blew a gentle breath across the surface of the hot beverage, watching the tiny ripples traveling across the confines of the cup. Perhaps the fledgling regime that managed to seduce a portion of the Cuban navy and gained a foothold in Havana would be more amenable than the current establishment toward fulfilling his parents’ dream – allowing a team of scientists to explore and document Diablo Caldera, the volcanic prison that had housed pliosaurs and an assortment of other prehistoric life forms since the Cretaceous.

  Dirk licked his lips and put his coffee back. With a dexterity bordering on the mystical, his hands drifted across his keyboard. As a member of Grayson Defense Technology’s Board of Directors, he’d invoked his authority and utilized GDT’s vast network of paramilitary contacts to reach out to the leader of the resource-poor Cuban opposition. His hope was that a substantial gift of dollars would lubricate the wheels of progress. Or at least leave the door propped open for future discussions.

  Ten million dollars was a tidy sum. He’d personally put up the money, partially because he had little faith in the outcome, but mainly because he didn’t want to bother Eric Grayson with his plan. His aging mentor was critical of such things and would have regarded it as a bad investment. ‘Save your money, Derek. Let’s allow the political process to run its course,’ he’d say with that paternal, yet frustratingly condescending, tone of his.

  He clicked open his email and sighed. No reply yet.

  Oh well. It was only money.

  Dirk jumped as his doorbell buzzed loudly. A glance at the monitor showed it was Grayson. It figured. He stashed the flash drive in his lab coat pocket and hopped to his feet.

  “Enter,” he said, causing the door to whoosh open.

  “Ah, there you are, my boy,” the silver-haired scientist said with a grin.

  Dirk indicated the three news channels, all showing highlights of the Cuban conflict. “Have you been keeping tabs on this?”

  “Of course,” his mentor said. “We’ve been selling to both sides.”

  “We have?”

  “Naturally. No worries, all outdated stuff. And, yes, I know what you’re thinking. This could be the break we’ve been waiting for. And yes, once the dust settles, we’ll certainly negotiate with the battle-weary victor. Lord knows they’ll need food, medicine, weapons--”

  “Money . . .”

  “Absolutely.” Grayson glanced around Dirk’s impeccably clean quarters, then lowered his voice. “We’re alone, correct?”

  Dirk nodded, hating that his and Stacy’s comings and goings were so transparent.

  “Excellent.” Grayson gave his protégé an appraising look. “First off, that was some stunt you and Dr. Daniels pulled off. Why didn’t you warn me you were planning to run a resurrection gambit like that?”

  Dirk cleared his throat. “Actually, sir, we only came up with it the day before. We did a dry run, literally, but we weren’t sure if we were going to go through with it until the last minute. I was concerned about Stacy, as you were. Plus, we wanted it to be a surprise. You know, for added shock value.”

  “A surprise?” the old man chortled. “Are you kidding? You made half the crowd piss themselves, guards included, and I’m fairly certain I caught the scent of fecal matter coming from Callahan’s direction!”

  “I’m surprised you could tell,” Dirk replied. He cursed silently, regretting the inordinate slip. He recovered quickly. “So, it was a success?”

  Grayson snorted amusedly. “Let’s just say everyone’s holiday bonus will be very plump this year. Tiamat is going to be very good for us, son. In fact, all the money we invested--”

  Th-th-th-thud.

  “Speak of the devil,” Dirk remarked and meant it.

  Grayson stared at the thick aluminum slab that formed the far wall of his charge’s living quarters. “Is she still doing that?”

  “First time today. But then, she was just ordered back into her paddock.”

  “Open it,” Grayson ordered.

  “Yes, sir,” Dirk replied. Rather than walking to the wall switch, he said aloud, “Raise shield.”

  There was a loud hum as the painted wall that served as a privacy guard slid smoothly upward. Directly outside, an immense swirl of bubbles obscured visibility as Tiamat’s monstrous body moved past. The obsidian-colored beast continued on, then turned on her tail and swept back, her glittering, flame-like eyes peering into Dirk’s quarters. She backstroked, hovering less than a head’s-length from the hard PBI barrier. Holding her position, she studied the two men through her depthless black pupils, like some monstrous crocodile eyeing a baby antelope.

  “Fascinating.” Grayson’s silvery eyebrows lowered as he approached the clear polycarbonate. “It’s like she’s deliberately harassing you.”

  “Oh, it’s deliberate, alright,” Dirk said. “Watch this.”

  He reached over and tapped the shield button. The Kronosaurus queen uttered a thunderous grunt of displeasure and changed position the moment the wall began to lower. Dirk signaled for Grayson to join him by his desk. “Check it out.”

  On the bottom left corner of the monitor, a window popped open showing the paddock directly outside. On it, Tiamat’s giant muzzle was so close, all that was visible was her scaly lips and a fang or two. Then she twisted about, adjusting herself with flicks of her fins until one of her luminous eyes was glaring directly into the camera. On the monitor, her menacing orb filled the window, like the “Eye of Sauron” from “Lord of the Rings.”

  “Is that on auto-feed?” Grayson asked.

  “Yes,” Dirk said. “When she sees the camera’s red LED come on, she glares directly into the lens. And when I say glare, I mean glare.”

  “Turn it off.”

  Dirk touched a key, killing the connection and closing the window on his monitor. Outside, there was a low rumble, followed by a sudden swirling sound. Then silence.

  “Intriguing,” Grayson said. “She’s learned to connect the LED with your being able to see her, even with the shield down. Perhaps due to the color she associates it with the opened eyes of one of her kind.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Dirk agreed. “She can’t see me anymore and her behavioral inhibitors won’t allow her to keep bumpin
g the wall ‘by accident,’ so she heads straight to the camera to continue her little game of ‘cat and mouse.’”

  “That must be very disturbing for you. What happens at night, when you’re trying to sleep?”

  “She used to keep me up, pulling her stunts,” Dirk advised, “until I went online and cut the size of her virtual paddock by two-thirds as punishment.”

  “Hmm, she learns fast,” Grayson muttered. The crinkles around the corners of his eyes tightened as he stored this new information. Suddenly, his head snapped upright. “Oh, I almost forgot. We need to move the conference to 4 PM.”

  “How so?” Dirk asked. He’d have to move his meeting with Dr. Bane to after dinner. Or maybe make it a dinner meeting. She’d probably go for that. In between, maybe he could hit the gym and squeeze in a much-needed workout.

  “Strictly between us, I’m having some issues with a few of my Last Chancers,” Grayson admitted.

  “What kind of issues?”

  “You’re already aware of the intermittent AWOL problem. Recently, Officer McHale disappeared. No word, nothing on the scope. He was just found, days later, hiding out in the lower levels.”

  “What about his tracker?”

  “He chewed it out.”

  “Jesus,” Dirk muttered. An exciting idea popped into his head, but he managed to ask, matter-of-factly, “Have you considered terminating the program and bringing in paid professionals instead?”

  “Lord knows I have.” Grayson paused, grimacing as he rolled out stiff shoulders. “But we’ve got a binding DOC contract that obligates us for another eighteen months. We’ll just have to hang in there and see how it plays out.”

  Dirk nodded, disappointed he’d be stuck spending the next year-and-a-half surrounded by murderers, drug dealers, and rapists. Frankly, he preferred the company of their resident pliosaurs. Sure, sauropterygians were dangerous, but at least there was no dishonesty in them.

  “By the way, although we don’t have sonar signature confirmation, I think we’ve got a lead on Typhon,” Grayson announced.